


the melody for you and me

by starlight_sugar



Category: Lovely Little Losers, Nothing Much to Do
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 09:24:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4601544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlight_sugar/pseuds/starlight_sugar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Shouldn't we go and order?"</p>
<p>"You mean chat up Peter?"</p>
<p>Or: Costa goes to a coffee shop and falls head over heels for the barista. Who does <i>slam poetry.</i> It's a match made in heaven, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the melody for you and me

**Author's Note:**

> Well, apparently I'm writing cliche McDonaldson AUs. I hope you guys have as much fun reading them as I do writing them! At time of posting, the newest videos are LLL 19 and Jaquie's audition, and the title is from [Light Me Up](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6jN4SIxIW7A) by Icona Pop.

“I am genuinely offended,” Costa says, “that you’ve been coming here without me.”

Paige and Chelsey exchange a look that’s equal parts fond and exasperated. Costa has never understood how they can manage that, but they do it quite often. It’s impressive, truly.

“Well,” Chelsey offers at last, “this way we know that we’re not dragging you to a bad open mic night?”

If anything, that offends Costa more. “Anywhere that has an open mic night with its doors open to artists is deserving of attention!”

“We wanted to make sure the coffee was good, too,” Paige puts in quickly. “It took a few visits, because you know how baristas are, some of them are better than others.”

That Costa can understand. Paige and Chelsey are both rather particular about their coffee, in their own ways, and Costa supposes he is too. No two people like their coffee quite the same, but that’s all right so long as they can reconcile their tastes, isn’t it?

(Note to self: explore coffee as a metaphor for relationships. Could be interesting. Sugar and bitterness as an analogue for personality? It has potential, that’s certain.)

Regardless, Costa’s rather touched that he’s invited to open mic night. Paige has evidently been performing a couple songs a week for several weeks now, and he knows that she values her guitar the same way he values all of his old scripts. Art is personal, it’s internal in a way that most outsiders can’t always understand, and he’s lucky that Paige (and Chelsey) considers him worthy of entrance to that inner circle.

Paige shifts her guitar case over her shoulders and pulls the door open. Chelsey follows close behind, and Costa closes the door behind them, glancing around. He remembers this place when it was a bar - not an especially great bar, but still a bar - and it still looks like one. The only difference is it smells like espresso instead of cheap beer, and he doesn’t remember any of the bartenders looking like the gorgeous blond behind the counter.

“Go take a seat,” Paige says, her voice only betraying the slightest hint of nerves. Costa is proud of her despite himself; it’d seem that she’s learned to disguise her stage fright. “I have to talk to Peter and make sure they’re ready for me.”

Chelsey kisses Paige on the cheek. “Break a leg.”

Paige smiles brightly at her and hurries off towards the counter and the truly beautiful barista. Costa lifts an eyebrow. “Is that Peter, then?”

“Yes, he is.” Chelsey takes Costa’s elbow and leads him over to a table in the corner. “Paige knows one of his flatmates, he’s the one who suggested she come here and try performing.”

“He’s gorgeous.”

“He is,” Chelsey sighs, casting a glance over her shoulder at him. “He has good hair.”

That’s not even the half of it, Costa thinks. Peter is wiping down a glass case and chatting away with Paige, looking happy and relaxed. He decides not to sigh dreamily, because he knows Chelsey will tell Paige and then they’ll both tease him together, and he’d rather avoid that. “Shouldn’t we go and order?”

“You mean chat up Peter?”

“I mean order, and speak to the lovely barista, if he so wishes.”

Chelsey gives him a knowing smile. “Of course. Well, either way, we haven’t got the time. Paige is about to go up.”

There’s a mini-stage in the back of the coffee shop, and their corner table has a clear view, if a little far. No sooner does Chelsey say that than Paige bounds onto the stage, all nervous energy and tense wrists. Her guitar is barely out of her case, but she looks excited and happy. Costa always knew the stage was her home, just as it was his and Chelsey’s. Some people just belong in front of other people.

“Hello, everyone,” Paige says, and Chelsey leans forward, moon-eyed and starstruck. “I’m Paige Moth, and I’m here to serenade you.” She wiggles her eyebrows just a bit, and Costa smiles.

Paige’s set is three songs: one that’s nothing but bright chords on the guitar, pretty and resonant through the air; one that she sings her way through as Chelsey hums along; and a cover of some pop song that Costa can almost sing along to. It’s beautiful music, and Paige looks absolutely resplendent as she plays, almost like the music is making her brighter.

(Can music do that? Can sound serve as an inspiration for light? Music, appearance, and emotion are all more than likely connected - he should look into that sometime, it’d make for an interesting visual performance piece.)

Chelsey claps louder than everyone else in the shop, of course, but Costa likes to think that he’s at a close second. Everyone else applauds politely, and Paige is glowing as she steps up to the microphone for one last time.

“Thank you all so much, really,” she says, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “It’s always a good time performing here, and now I get to introduce one of my friends at his debut performance. You know him for making your coffee, and now you’re going to know him for a truly excellent slam poem that he wrote, so give it up for -- Peter Donaldson!”

He’s a poet. Costa is in love, he’s fairly sure. “I think I’m in love,” he tells Chelsey.

She pats his arm. “Wait till you’ve had a conversation with him to say for sure.”

Paige slips to the back of the coffee shop, still glowing. Chelsey jumps up to give her a kiss and pull a chair over, and by the time they’re settled back in, barista Peter is on the stage, looking horribly uncertain but determined. He clears his throat and adjusts the mic stand, and Costa tries to pretend that he’s not transfixed by his hands.

“What’re you looking at?” Paige whispers.

Chelsey laughs softly. “He has a crush on Peter.”

Costa doesn’t shush her, but only because Peter takes a deep breath and every word that Costa had dies in his throat.

“I buried him myself,” he begins, unsteady but with conviction. “It was the least I could do, after killing him. I’d been so sure that I would never lose him, I’d known him so long, and I look back and wonder how I didn’t know I was wrong.”

It’s not a great poem. Costa has heard great poems, and this isn’t one of them. But he listens anyways, listens to Peter describe the murder, the loss of trust and faith in whoever he killed. He listens to his voice grow steadier and prouder, and unapologetic, and he listens to the poem get stronger -

(“I was choking on who he used to be,” Peter says, “and I couldn’t swallow the reality of who he was,” and Costa forgets how to breathe.)

\- and he can feel the conclusion coming, he knows where it’s going, and he’s still awed by the ending.

Peter’s hands are white-knuckled around the microphone, but his voice is clear as ever. “So I buried him, because you can never forget someone that you bury, and I never want to forget the person I used to be.”

He’s off the stage almost immediately, picking an apron up along the way, but the applause is almost deafening to Costa’s ears. Granted, that’s more than likely because he’s the loudest in the room, but everyone else seems impressed as well. Paige and Chelsey are already murmuring to each other, and Costa remembers abruptly that they know Peter. They know magical, beautiful poet-barista-wordsmith Peter.

“I need you to introduce me to him,” Costa says, and he sounds completely dazed to his own ears. Judging by the look Paige and Chelsey exchange, they hear it too.

“I’ll go talk to him first,” Chelsey decides. “I’ll chat him up for you.”

“You are an excellent wingman,” Costa tells her. “I should bring you more places.” She grins at him as she gets up and goes to the counter. He turns to Paige. “I really should bring you more places.”

She pats his elbow. “We brought you here, Costa.”

“And you were delightful, of course,” Costa adds quickly. It wouldn’t do to forget to tell Paige that, not when her songs had been so lovely. “Did you write those first two? I’ve always wanted to delve into the musical arts, there’s so much more opportunity for expression.”

“I wrote them both, but I had help with the chords on the second one.” Paige ducks her head. “The first one was mine, though.”

“It was incredibly atmospheric.” Costa nods, and Paige blushes, although he thinks it’s the good kind of blushing. “You set a wonderful tone, which is the most difficult task for any artist to accomplish. You managed well from the beginning.”

Paige’s eyes get a bit of a wicked gleam, and she looks up at him. “Did Peter manage well from the beginning?”

He hadn’t, really, but Costa’s fairly certain that Peter could recite a dictionary and he’d still want to listen to it. “My opinions of his poem are my own,” he says primly. “They are only for me, and for him.” He pauses. That could be a good icebreaker. “Actually-”

Chelsey slides back into her seat, looking pleased. “Go order,” she says happily. “Don’t come on too strong, but go for it.”

Costa jumps out of his seat and hurries over to the counter, smiling as Paige chirps, “Good luck!” He could always use a dash of luck.

Peter is alone behind the counter, fiddling with one of the machines, but he turns around when he hears Costa approaching. He offers a cursory, curious smile. “Paige and Chelsey’s friend?”

“Costa McClure, coffee connoisseur.” He holds out his hand, and Peter shakes it firmly. “I have to say, I liked the performance.”

Peter flushes slightly, and it’s utterly charming. Costa is utterly charmed. “I - thank you, I’ve never performed it before, but I figured the opportunity was too good to pass up.” He pauses, eyes Costa, opens his mouth, closes it, and then blurts out: “D’you have any advice?”

“Advice?”

“For the poem.” Peter shrugs, faux-nonchalant. “You seem sort of… dramatic, if you don’t mind me saying. I can tell you have an opinion.”

“The beginning was weak,” Costa says before he can think better of it. Peter visibly wilts, and Costa promptly panics. “I mean - there was a lot of promise in the first half, but it could use refining, poetically speaking. It needs more heart, less cliche, it needs to be more like the second half.”

Peter nods slowly. “What exactly are you counting as the second half?”

“Around the time the subject shifts from murder to loss, it gets much stronger.” Costa can’t help but smile. “The line about choking - that was fantastic, that was your poetic peak.”

“Was it really?” Peter smiles, looking genuinely pleased, and Costa rather desperately wants to kiss him. “I was worried about that, I thought it sounded a bit dramatic.”

“Only in the best way!” Costa beams at him. “It was your emotional climax, in my humble opinion, easily the best part-”

“Er,” Peter says, suddenly red-faced, “I’d love to chat, but someone’s about to start at the mic, and I’m not supposed to distract customers during performances. Did you want to order something?”

“Oh,” Costa says. He’s a little crestfallen, if he’s being honest; he thought they’d been going somewhere interesting. “Of course, I’ll - what do you have in the way of caffeinated hot chocolate?”

“I’ll come up with something.” Peter busies himself about the machines, and Costa settles in to watch him. He moves like he knows what he’s doing, like he speaks the language of the coffee machines and knows how to translate it into something Costa can understand. It’s rather lovely to watch.

(And really, here’s the epiphany of the night: if coffee is a metaphor for love, and music and poetry can translate into love, those all must intersect, mustn’t they? Coffee is the language of romance, with all of its parts and pieces, and poetry is only the sum of its syllables, and here’s Peter Donaldson, master of both. Master of assembling something fantastic out of the bare bones of possibility.)

“Here you go,” Peter says, pulling Costa back into the real world. “On the house, as thanks for your advice.”

“I couldn’t possibly,” Costa says, but he takes the cup anyways, and Peter smirks, and it’s charming, damn him. The drink is warm and smells delicious. “What is this?”

“Try it and find out. I think Paige and Chelsey are trying to leave.”

Costa glances over his shoulder and sees that they’re already outside, muttering to themselves, wrapped up in each other. “So they are,” he admits. “I’d best be leaving, then. Don’t want them to get too impatient.”

Peter smiles. “It was good meeting you, Costa. Take care.”

Costa leaves slowly, drinking in the warmth of the coffee shop as he steps outside. Paige and Chelsey don’t notice him yet, and he takes another look at the cup, trying to decide what it is. He’s ready to give up when he turns the cardboard sleeve and catches a snatch of Sharpie. He lifts the cup closer to his face, squinting to read the writing.

_Hot chocolate + 2 shots of espresso + some cinnamon for good measure. If you think of more feedback about the poem, let me know. -P_

There’s a phone number scribbled below that, and Costa feels his face splitting into a massive grin. He can’t even bring himself to mind when Paige asks why he’s smiling at a coffee cup. He has transcended beyond minding, because he, Costa McClure, just got the number of the most attractive and brilliant barista he’s ever met.

He really should’ve gone to see Paige perform sooner.

**Author's Note:**

> I am always down to talk about McDonaldson, fic, or anything else on [Tumblr](http://officialseancassidy.tumblr.com) or [Twitter.](http://twitter.com/ofclseancassidy)


End file.
